Stopping by Woods...

It was wintertime in the woods, cold and shadow-cast, when I fell in love with trail running. Not from my own experience of running, because back then I was not a runner, but from watching the absolute joy and freedom that came from the children in my forest school as they skipped and ran through the woods. How could they know that their inspiration would one day lead me to attempt a 100 mile race? 

I’ve been dreaming of those chilly school mornings when my little charges would arrive bundled up, layer upon layer. We called the layers “the three little piggies” because you just had to find a way to make all that bulk fun; long underwear, t-shirt, fleece, plus a jacket, mittens, scarf and a hat. And still, the children would stand stock still, shivering in protest from the biting cold. For additional warmth, we built fires. Mr Smokey was our old fire pit in the play area made from a large wheel rim with a bicycle chain smiley face wielded to the front of it. Building a fire is a “two birds with one stone” activity, as the children are warmed by both collecting firewood and by the fire itself. This is physics learned at an early age! Young children learn through their senses. No need to explain the day away when you’re cold. Immediate action is required! In a forest school, a camp fire becomes a simple act of winter survival.

Such a strong memory! One by one, the children arrive and we immediately set to work gathering kindling. We enter the forest through a wooden gate which is permanently ajar, the hinge having given up years earlier. Here in this magical, early morning oasis of crunchy fallen leaves, sunlit painted trees and the lemony smell of black walnuts, we begin searching for the just-right sized sticks. Three-year old hands easily wrap around the thin twigs, and these are best for starting fires. Hold a stick with two hands, brace it with your knee, and even a small child can snap a twig in two. As for the larger branches, it takes the strength and balance of a big kid with a heavy foot and strong arm to crack that branch in half. Once the wood is gathered, we march over to Mr Smokey. The heavy grate lid is removed, and we begin to crumple newspaper. What joy to make a paper ball out of a single sheet of paper! In a fit of destruction, a light, flat surface becomes a round object with enough weight to move through the air with some precision. Of course, the older kids must challenge themselves by moving further and further from their target and give it their best shot. The most confident ones climb to the top of the play structure and use their pitcher’s arm to throw the paper ball down to an imaginary catcher’s mitt. Paper ball play and wood gathering produce a glow of perspiration on their round faces. The hats get thrown to the ground, mittens have long ago been discarded. Even before lighting the fire, we are making our own heat. Once the paper balls are gathered into a pile in the center of Mr Smokey, we begin building a stick fairyhouse, propping up the sides like a teepee. At this point in the process, most of the children have grown bored of this sustained activity and are off digging in the sandbox. But when the match is struck and the paper inside the fairyhouse begins to glow, I call them with a lilting voice so as to soften the transition between their imaginary world and the one that now has a real fire burning. “Come see the lovely fire fairyhouse”, and they come running not because I call them but more likely because the desire to run in a pack is so strong. Huddled around the fire, as our breathing settles, we pretend to be a ring of dragons exhaling smoke-like condensation. We’ll remain together like this until I sing another song which marks the time that we head out on our quarter mile trail, “Come follow, follow me, Wither shall I follow thee? To the greenwood, greenwood tree.” I glasp the hand of one of my two year olds and slowly walk through the gate while the giddy five year olds pass us, running with abandon.  

This morning, it's 39 degrees and dark when I start into the woods. Wearing a headlamp, hat, gloves, and two little piggies, I'm scheduled to spend four hours on my feet. What I do on the trails is something like running but also a lot like walking. After a couple of hours, every muscle competes for my attention from the bottom of my feet, up through my ankles, calves, hamstrings, glutes, back, shoulders and neck. Most of the time, I feel my age, and, if you’ve read any of my previous blogs, you already know what that is. But when daylight starts its early morning ascent, filtering orange light through the trees, the soft leaves creating a cushion underfoot, I am a little lighter, imagining that I'm running with the legs of a twenty year old, breathing with the lungs of a teenager and laughing with the exuberance of a child.

I’m running the Umstead 100,  April 6-7, 2023 in support of climate action. Please check out my fundraising page here.

Acrylic Painting inspired by a chilly morning run at sunrise in Carolina North Forest, Chapel Hill. ARM-L 12/9/23